


Half Empty, Half Full

by Chibibee (Rebecky_Mo)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Male Friendship, Pre-Slash, Rating: PG13, Slash, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebecky_Mo/pseuds/Chibibee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tracks ponders how two cases of Bad Luck somehow equals Good Fortune. Takes place during/after "Make Tracks".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half Empty, Half Full

**Author's Note:**

> For the "Rumi Poetry" challenge over at [](http://tf-rare-pairing.livejournal.com/profile)[**tf_rare_pairing**](http://tf-rare-pairing.livejournal.com/), the quote being "5. Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.".

As far as Tracks was concerned, the entire night had been one big train wreck.

Well, perhaps that was the wrong analogy. 'Car crash' was a far more literal choice of words in this case. Mostly because that was where his night had taken a turn for the worse. All he'd wanted was to take a drive through this amazing new city they'd come to, was that so wrong?

New York City, aka the 'Big Apple'. He still didn't quite understand that nickname yet, but humans were odd like that...

But oh, this city. It was so different from the quiet of the Oregon hills, and despite seeing places all over the world, this bustling metropolis still managed to stand out from all others. So many different frame typ -- er, _ethnicities_ so tightly cramped together, smelted and welded together by lines of neon lights, promising exciting new foods or clothing or anything your little spark desired. The swarms of people escaping the subway stations below every few minutes, the crowds hovering around street corners to catch the act of the latest buskers to claim their territory...everywhere Tracks' sensors saw something moving, the streets themselves seeming alive. It was all so enthralling!

If he tuned out just a little bit, it almost felt like being back in Iacon, before Shockwave's control got too strong...

Though the tuning out may have been part of his problem tonight, because one minute he'd been humming along a detour down a side street, and the next the front of his alt form was wrapped around a telephone pole. In addition to his gorgeous paint job being totally decimated and his tires flattened by thugs, countless interior parts were tweaked and twisted out of place, making it painful to drive and impossible to transform and simply walk back to Sparkplug's. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere, and no one knew where he was.

"Wow!"

No one that is, except some young human who happened across him. He looked older than Spike and Chip, though still much younger than Sparkplug, with a much darker paint jo -- _skin coloring_ , and longer hair that seemed to have it's own CPU the way it curled every which way. Perhaps he'd be willing to help him out by contacting the others for him, and --

"Well, no one seems to want you, so that makes you mine. We're gonna fix you up good!"

Well, this was a most disturbing development.

Not a hopeless one, though. If this, this _punk_ planned on repairing him, he would simply drive off as soon as he's done. Problem solved, Tracks had thought to himself smugly as the human and two accomplices pushed him into a quiet alcove and assessing the damage.

Then he'd had to open his big fat vocalizer and wreck it. It wasn't his fault though! This stupid little human kept saying he owned him. Like he had no choices, no mind of his own. Like he was just a...a _thing_.

"Nobody owns me, I'm _mine_!"

He had to admit, he was more than a little satisfied hearing the cry of surprise and feeling the heavy thunk of human skull meeting his front fender. Though the boy (young man?) had been unconscious just long enough to get him worried, so he'd done his best to prod him back to the waking world.

"That car _talks?!_ "

"You've got a mind like a steel trap."

What? Just because he woke him up, that didn't mean he needed to be polite. He'd still been stolen by the kid. Again. And yet again, it looked like he was going to be sold off for money; to the Geddes brothers, no less. He'd heard about them from the NYPD, a known criminal family in the city that was looking to expand its' territory into other ventures besides a protection racket and weapons smuggling. But starting chop shops? That seemed to be a bit below their tastes...

And it looked as though it was below his savior/botnapper's taste as well. He didn't sound too happy about this whole situation himself. Besides, what young human male would choose money over owning a vehicle as stunning as himself?

How desperate did he have to be to get involved with the infamous world of the Mafia _for_ that money?

"More than you need a friend?"

The boy's body had stiffened at that, but didn't answer Tracks' question. He'd just shaken it off and walked away, saying he was 'going shopping, be right back'.

'Shopping' seemed to be street slang for 'stealing more stuff' around this city, because the human returned with some clearly used tires not 30 minutes later, muttering about his first stolen car having a big mouth. So he'd never done this before; somehow that little piece of information relieved Tracks.

The Corvette's musing had been cut short by the cutting of one little wire. Oh how he hated the fact that some much of his Primary Sensory Systems were all connected through a single wiring strain! Awful, awful designing in an otherwise flawless frame. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't see...he still had his audio receptors, fat lot of good they did at a time like this...

And as quickly as they'd been gone, they were back again, and Tracks hadn't been able to help the sigh of relief. "Oh, thank you."

"How come you shut down when I cut that wire, man?"

"It's connected to my main computer, without it, I'm just an ordinary car."

Frag it all. Did he actually say that?! All the boy had to do was detach that wire again, and there was nothing he could do to stop him from doing it either...

"Well, let's get you working again!"

...Huh? Alright, it was clear now that his 'mechanic' was different from all the other crooks and car-jackers the Autobot's had taken down over the last few weeks. It would have been so easy to just clip the wire, and there would be no more trouble from the talkative Corvette. He would have gotten his money, and Tracks would have been sentenced to a life as an 'off the assembly line' model, forever trapped in his own body...at least, until he was torn apart for parts.

But he didn't. He'd carefully maneuvered around it as he continued strong-arming, torquing, and hammering Tracks' front back into shape, keeping up the banter as he went. The human even muttered a soft 'sorry' if a sudden move didn't go as planned and Tracks yelped. At one point he'd looked at Tracks oddly, like he was trying to figure something out. The young man had opened his mouth to speak, to ask him something perhaps...but had paused, and then seemed to change his mind, choosing a wisecrack over the question at the tip of his tongue.

Criminal or not, he was no fool. He knew what, or rather who he was talking to; if he didn't ask, he could play ignorant when midnight came along.

The continuous stream of conversation worked as information for Tracks as well; between the occasional smart remarks and jokes, Tracks had managed to drag out bits and pieces of his captor's situation, fitting them all together like he would the hexapuzzles back home. Hours earlier he'd wondered how desperate the human was to work for the Geddes brothers, and he had his answer; very desperate. For whatever reason, the boy had lost his job earlier than month, which had been just enough to keep a roof over his head.  He now had a week to pay the rent on said roof, and after weeks of job hunting, he didn't have it. It was either get some quick cash stealing cars, or..."look, I don't know how you cars like sleeping on the streets and stuff, but we humans don't always take to it well. I know I didn't." Tracks had seen the homeless humans on the streets of countless cities including New York, huddled in alleys, doorways and overtop metal grates hoping to keep warm and lining up outside soup kitchens looking for one good meal. From the sounds of it, this guy had been in those lines once. He was on his way there again.

Tracks was his only way out.

Midnight had approached rapidly, but the repairs to Tracks' body were completed; he'd even been shined up to boot. But his car-jacker suddenly seemed to be second-guessing his last chance effort to save his home. The Autobot, however, was very sure of his new plan. It was simple; he'd play the average car, and let this human sell him to the brothers. He'd get his money, and once they separated Tracks would transform, capture the Geddes family leaders and get back to base before sunrise. The whole thing would be win-win!

But not even this went right, because before he'd even gotten to explain the plan, the boy went around the corner to see his bosses...and immediately choked on his words, unable to say that he _had_ gotten a car for them. Tracks went to Plan C: show up in style, transform, and save the poor guy before he wound up an ornament on the floor of the Hudson river. At least _that_ went well! Though the subsequent car chase was unexpected, as was the stunning realization that the Geddes  might actually be working with the Decepticons! This new development definitely needed to be looked into, and he had some unexpected backup in his carjacker.

Raoul.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The drive to the New Jersey pine barrens had been quiet, a short reprieve from the madness of the evening. As they saw the stolen cars slowing up ahead, Tracks pulled off into the brush, hoping to get a ringside seat for whatever was going on.

Sure enough, there were the Decepticons; a _lot_ of them. And to top it all off, Megatron himself, double-crossing the Geddes brothers and sending them running off with their tails between their legs. He couldn't say he felt bad for the gang leaders, after all, threatening Megatron with a measly laser pistol was suicide.

So was trying to face him alone, but of _course_ his fragging com-link was still damaged from his crash earlier, Primus forbid. But if he went back to New York for back-up, whatever the Decepticons were planning for those cars might be completed...

"What're they doing with all those cars?"

"That's just what I intend to find out." Tracks opened his side door. "I want you to stay here, though. This is a bit bigger than I thought it would be."

Raoul had eyed the scene below warily, and finally nodded, stepping out into the fresh air. "Yeah. Yeah, sounds good to me." Good man, smart enough to know when things were out of his league.

Getting into the lineup of stolen cars  was easy enough, though it didn't take long for Tracks to regret his decision to do so. Seeing the Constructicons wielding oversized blades and doing their best infomercial impression on the cars ahead wasn't exactly a confidence builder. It was time to get Raoul, get back to New York, and get Prime and the others back here as soon as...

Oh no, _NOT AGAIN!_

That pit-accursed wire! It would pick that moment to come undone again, wouldn't it?! Tracks had vainly tried to start his engine, to no avail. He was stuck on the conveyor belt, and Scrapper was getting closer by the second, from the squealing sounds of crushed metal and glass.

No Autobot ever considered that they'd actually survive this war; though they never talked about it, many secretly wondered just how they'd go offline when the time came. This wasn't anything Tracks would've ever imagined; he actually wished his audio's were affected like the rest of him, if only so he wouldn't hear the moment coming...

But he heard something else too over the sounds of demolition ahead. A voice close behind him, loud and clear and angry.

"Hey man, what're you doing with my car!?"

Raoul?! Why wasn't he up on the hill?! And who was he talking to? Surely it wasn't --

"What do you mean, _'your car'_?"

Megatron.

"This car's _mine_ , man! And if you're trying to rip it up for spare parts, I've got a nasty surprise for you!"

Oh Primus, that stupid, stupid human! Hadn't he just seen what happened with the Geddes? And they'd had weapons! He should have never brought him along in the first place, should have left him back at the harbor docks and made his way alone...

"Explain yourself!" Megatron was sounding angrier by the minute. That would have been an excellent time for Raoul to shut up and run, fast. But of course he hadn't done that. He chose to threaten the leader of the Decepticons instead.

"Got an anti-stripping device on this baby. It's called a 'bomb'."

Tracks had been waiting for the sound of blaster fire or humans screams to come; the seconds of silence had stretched out like vorns.

"Disconnect that bomb, and maybe I'll let you _live_."

Megatron bought it?

"...Right on, fair enough."

"Stop the conveyor!"

Megatron _bought it._

Tracks had been stunned.

And before he knew it, Raoul had reconnected his PSS cables firmly, hissing out a quiet. "Tracks? _Get us outta here, man!_ "

He hadn't needed to be told twice, transforming instantly and blasters firing nanoseconds later, putting himself between the other bots and Raoul. But it was a useless fight; there were just too many Decepticons, and too few of them. Tracks had turned to his partner, shouting over the gunshots "It's painfully obvious we're badly outnumbered!"

"Then let's split!" Best idea the human had had all night. But that wasn't saying much, all things considered. The two of them had bolted into the thick brush of the forest, Tracks providing cover fire and changing into his alt mode as soon as the land smoothed out a bit, Raoul clambering in quickly before hitting the pedal to the metal. Escape would be much easier with four wheels on the ground instead of two feet and the trees to cover them from seekers above. Rumble and Ravage were losing ground in the chase, and fast. But Tracks was losing the fight against his body. The chop shop bust earlier, the damage from the crash, all the chases and fights....it had caught up to him. He was exhausted, power levels dangerously in the red zone and still dropping. He would never have gotten back to New York like that; he'd be lucky to get another mile. There was nothing for it; they needed to find somewhere to hide out, transform, and be prepared to make a stand.

But robot mode was no better; the struts and supports in his legs refused to hold up his weight bringing him to his knees and needing to rely on a nearby tree to keep from falling over and leaving him just as helpless as he'd felt on that conveyor belt. His optics and audios were flickering in and out as well, the black and white buzz of static drowning out his surroundings. Every few seconds Tracks had caught small clips of Raoul next to him, trying vainly to get him moving again by tugging at his arm and calling his name, his voice laced with fear and desperation, in hopes of a response.

And then Raoul wasn't looking at him, but somewhere off in the distance, and Tracks knew that while he couldn't hear Ravage's snarls moving ever closer to them, Raoul very much could. The human's expression quickly became panicked, and if he could see color, Tracks was certain the dark skin would be going ashen and grey as he'd seen other humans do. His eyes were darting rapidly back between their chasers and Tracks himself, obviously trying to think of a plan. Something, anything! Somehow, Tracks doubted he'd come with anything that worked any better than his own plans had tonight.

The next wave of static faded just in time to see Raoul looking at Tracks again, jaw set and eyes determined, and catch the tail end of his sentence. "--draw their fire, man!" And then he was gone before Tracks could even register the words, bolting into the brush the same way they'd just come from, towards the Decepticons. He hadn't even had the strength to call out to him, to tell him to forget about distracting them and just run, frag it all!

Never had a few mere joors moved so slowly as at that moment, sitting against that pit-forsaken tree and having nothing but trees and shadows to welcome each reboot of his optics.

Nothing, that is, until Rumble's tiny form was suddenly in front of him, with a manic grin and a blaster pointed at his helm and poised to fire. No sign of Ravage. That only made his spark dim further; at least if Soundwave's cassette were here, it would mean Raoul had failed in getting their attention and might have survived. With the predator out there still hunting him down in the darkness, those chances were far worse than bleak. Tracks waited for the final blow, sending out a mental apology to whoever might be listening...

If time before had stood still, the next few clicks all happened in a rush of action. The sound of blaster fire faded into his audios, only it wasn't from Rumble's, but Jazz and Bumblebee! They'd come roaring into the clearing, sights set on the Decepticon and firing with all they had, sending him stumbling and running off like a petrorabbit in mating season, just as Ravage finally decided to make his appearance, bee-lining for Tracks prone form with teeth and claws sharpened and ready. Then a flash of red and black before the his optics fizzled out again. When they came back online, Ravage was gone, and Sideswipe had taken his place, looking proud of his work. Dimly, his audios picked up Bumblebee's worried voice speaking to him between heaving vent intakes. "Where've you _been_ Tracks?! We've been looking all over for you!" His three comrades were all wearing expressions of confusion and concern; he must not look any better than he felt then.

If 'Bee meant to say anything more he never got the chance, as another voice piped up to interrupt. "He's almost out of power!"

"Who're you?!"

 _Raoul?!_ A flash of red and brown ran up from behind Sideswipe, and a surge of relief had swept through Tracks' systems like high-grade at the sight; he looked a little frazzled, but unhurt. He really had managed to elude the Decepticons, they were both actually going to get out of here! The sudden rush of joy brought back a shred of life back to his exhausted form, just enough to get his vocalizer working.

" _No,_ Sideswipe. Trust him...he's my friend."

It was the last thing Tracks remembered from the pine barrens.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Next thing he knew he was staring at a very familiar (if ghastly) orange-tinted ceiling, and was getting fresh energon pumped directly into his vital tubing. Later he'd find out that he'd somehow managed to get back into his alt-form for Sideswipe to tow him back before blacking out, but right then Ratchet and Hoist had both fretted over his condition, asking him what the frag happened to him that night. Tracks answered their question with one of his own, "Where's Raoul?" Hoist's visor had flickered on confusion, before the medic clued in to what he meant.

"Oh, you mean that human Jazz drove here? He's out in the main room with Prime and the others, filling them in on what you two found in the pine barrens--hey, hold on a click! We haven't checked you over completely yet." The tow truck's servos quickly grabbing at Tracks' rising form before he got too far, pushing him back to the medical berth.

Ratchet nodded in agreement, frowning slightly. "He's right, it's obvious you went through some trauma tonight; clipped wires, some serious denting of parts, and you've got completely different tires on than you left with. Funny thing is, it looks like some of this stuff has already been banged back into shape; it's not pretty or even close to professional...but it got the job done, and it should hold fine until I can fine tune the repairs. Any ideas on how that happened?" The CMO's optic ridge had raised slightly at the last question.

Tracks dodged the question again, at least for the moment; he didn't know how Ratchet would react to a human poking around his systems like that. "I do actually, and I'll explain it all to you. Later. How soon exactly until I can get up?"

"Put the brakes on there, sports car; give us a couple more clicks to finish things up and get your power back to optimum levels. From what I've heard, it sounds like you may need it..." It didn't take much longer for Tracks to be given the all-clear to leave the med-bay, but it didn't stop him from rushing out the doors at first chance with not so much as a peep about the marks and scratches left on his finish. He just barely kept himself from running down the corridors to the command area of the base, not bothering to acknowledge Ratchet's call to wait for him.

It was ridiculous. Hoist had said Raoul was there, said he was fine. And Tracks had believed him, really he did! He'd just...needed to see it with his own optics. That's all. With so much going wrong that night, no one would have dared blame him for that, right? The doors to the main room opened with a whoosh as he met them, not bothering to slow down.

Sure enough, half the 'bots in New York were in the room, with Optimus Prime standing contemplative before Teletraan One and eyeing the map on the screen "--nd you're certain this is the location of the Decepticons have their mystery factory?"

And right next to him, barely reaching halfway up the Prime's leg was Raoul. Safe, seemingly sound, and pointing out various locations on said screen, as if talking to the leader of an alien race was something he did everyday. "Oh yeah man, definitely. See, that right there's the hill we rolled up on before everything went to shit, and that's the ditch where your guys found us, and--"

"Tracks!" Blaster was the first to notice he'd walked into the room, practically running over to clasp servos with him. "Welcome back to the pack, jack!" He grinned, and Tracks couldn't help returning it. Taste in music not withstanding, it was hard to not like the oversized boom-box.  It hadn't taken long for the others to follow suit with their own comments and claps on the back, welcoming him home. Optimus was no different in that regard, clapping a heavy hand onto the tire on his shoulder and smiling with his eyes.

"Good to see you back on your feet, Tracks. Your new friend here has been filling us in on your little adventure tonight; not exactly the invigorating drive you'd planned on..."

Tracks couldn't help scoffing. "Hardly my definition of it, that's for certain. It's good to be back, but I can't take the credit for getting by as I was..." Raoul had remained standing in the same spot, hands tucked into his pockets and watching the reunion unfold. He'd startled when Tracks' head popped around the Prime's massive frame and made eye contact. "Are you alright Raoul?"

"Um...yeah. Yeah, I'm good, just a couple bruises...How 'bout you, man? Nothing loose?"

"It's amazing what a little fuel can do for a 'bot."

Thankfully the fuel had stopped the optic glitches as well. If he'd blinked, he might have missed the relief on the human's face at that moment. It seemed that all the worrying was a two-way street that night. "Heh. Cool." Tracks had just smiled back at him, then turned back to Optimus. Now that he knew Raoul was alright, it was time to get to business.

"Now then, about that factory the Decepticons had; while I was on that chopping block, I managed to see a few things further down the production line. It looked like they were customizing the cars..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Decepticons had created a chop shop robot army. Who would have thought it?...Well, besides Wheeljack; hopefully he wouldn't get any ideas.

500 drones had gathered it's forces and attacked New York City at various spots, including the Brooklyn Bridge and the Chrysler Building. They weren't intelligent, but one didn't need brains to be destructive, and these things had been that in spades. Fires and structural damage littered the city as himself and the other Autobots tried to push them back and Raoul worked as crowd control in the background. Eventually it was realized that they were being remote controlled at another source, and Blaster had used his jamming signal to shut the tin soldiers down, saving the city and it's people. But that would only be a temporary fix; it would be easy for Megatron to just make more soldiers, this time with stronger countermeasures. They needed to cut things off at the source; the factory in the pine barrens. Tracks and the other Autobots had converged on the clearing in a stampede of dust and roaring engines, and the Decepticons were outside waiting to greet them. It didn't take long for the blaster fire to light up the forest, the Autobots working to demolish the factory and the Decepticons trying to destroy the Autobots.

Sometime in all the commotion and chaos, Tracks had lost track of Raoul (how ironic). He'd driven with them here in his own seat, and now he'd disappeared in a mass of war cries and the thud of treaded pedes...

"Put me down! Let _GO!_ "

Obviously Lady Luck hadn't been finished laughing at Tracks that night.

Megatron had just stepped out from the factory, but he wasn't alone. Hanging from the megalomaniac's grip by the back of his coat was Raoul, struggling to escape and cursing every second as he did so. But it was no good; his smart mouth wouldn't save him this time, and Megatron had no intention letting his hostage go in one piece. Thankfully, Tracks hadn't been the only one to notice the situation, and Optimus had ordered the Autobots to hold their fire instantly. Megatron was practically leaking maliciousness as the wicked smirk crossed his faceplates.

"A sensible move, Prime! You see I can't guarantee this _worthless_ human's safety...unless you surrender."

...No.

There was absolutely no way this was going to happen. In less than 10 hours, he and Raoul had survived car crashes, tangles with the Mafia, being chopped into spare parts, fooling Megatron himself, running on less than 10% energy, being chased down by savage predatory cassettes, taking down an army of mindless weaponized automatons and dealing with each other. The terror that had been that night was almost over, they were so close to winning this fight tracks could taste it...and now the Decepticon leader had _dared_ to threaten the life of his _human?!?!_

Tracks' systems began to overheat, the freshly transferred energon in his system feeling like it had begun to boil in it's tubing. Warnings flashed across his CPU for the third time that night, citing a malfunction in his logic processors.

_Not. A. Fragging. Chance!_

"IF YOU HARM ONE HAIR ON HIS HEAD, I"LL _PERSONALLY_ CARVE YOU INTO SCRAP METAL!!" The threat had cut through the tense silence of the ceasefire, and Tracks had even surprised himself with how murderous it sounded to his own audios. Even Raoul had stopped his struggling to just look at him, as if he were stunned that Tracks would even voice such a threat just for him...

Naturally, Megatron seemed unimpressed. If anything, he was just amused by the promise. "Such a touching display of loyalty!" He'd sneered, the smirk only widening as Tracks glared at him. "Throw down your weapon, Pri-- _ARRRRGGGH!!_ " The confidence in his voice dissipated into a roar of agony.

For the second time that night, Megatron had underestimated the human in his grip; he really should have restrained his hands. Raoul had gotten over the shock of Tracks' threat, pulling out the spray paint he'd waved in front of Tracks' sensors earlier that night and managing to get one of Megatron's major panels open. There really were some sensitive parts lying just above the surface of their armor plating, if not always vital ones. The chemical makeup of paint, the force it gained from an air-pressurized can being sprayed directly on top of said parts....it would be enough to cause some serious pain.

It was more than enough to get Megatron to double over, dropping Raoul in the process and giving the human a chance to bolt over towards the Autobots and back into safe territory. Meanwhile, the Decepticons were thrown into panicking over the sudden change in Megatron's health, not seeing the spray paint attack. Rumble and Soundwave had been there to scoop up the tyrant and make the call to retreat, abandoning the fight and the factory, and flying off into the night sky with their leader in tow.

Now there was only one thing left to do. Prime had turned towards him, motioning towards the factory. "Tracks, would you care to do the honors?"

"It'd be a pleasure, Prime." A little target practice to work off some stress sounded great right about then...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Well, maybe there had been two things left to do. Three, actually.

With the building destroyed, all of the remaining drones in New York reverted back to their alt modes. But they were still weaponized, and there was always the chance Megatron would try to re-commission them into service. Plus they really did need to be returned to their owners, preferably without those new add-on features.

It had taken all day to get all 500 cars back to Sparkplug's garage to be reconverted into normal cars (and only 200 of them actually fit inside), but there was still a big problem, and Sparkplug had known it as he spoke with Optimus. "Even with Ratchet, Wheeljack and Hoist working with me, it's going to take weeks. I could use some extra help..." 'Help', hmmmm? Two astrobirds with one stone, perhaps?

It seemed Raoul had the same thought running through his mind at that comment as Tracks had. Unfortunately, they hadn't seen it in the same light, because before he could even say anything, Raoul had been heading towards the door with a quick wave. "Well, it's been great knowing you man. If you're ever in town again, look me up!"

Oh no he didn't...beating the human to the door, picking him up and planting him in front of one of the cars had been child's play for Tracks. Though it didn't look like Raoul had appreciated the act nor the reason for it, if the scowl on his face was any indication. "Some friend you are!" He'd grumbled.

It appeared he needed a little convincing that the effort would be worth his time. "Relax, Raoul, I'll help you!" As Sparkplug smiled and turned away to another car, Tracks made sure to get in closer to murmur the next part. "Besides, I've heard the government pays Sparkplug well for helping us out with things like this. It's a service to his country, really..."

Raoul had stiffened immediately at the word 'pay', head snapping back to meet Tracks' knowing optics with wide eyes. "...Just how 'well paid' are we talking exactly?" He murmured.

"Well enough to suit your needs, I think." Tracks had smiled softly, handing the human a wrench. "You helped me out with so many problems last night, after all...I think it's about time I helped you fix yours."

 It seemed he'd finally figured out what it took to make Raoul speechless, sputtering like an engine with sugar in it's fuel tank. "You...I...you!" To his surprise, the human had actually begun to _blush_ at the comment, his optics catching a flush of red darkening his skin across the cheeks and ears before Raoul turned his face towards the car engine. It took a moment before Raoul collected himself and took the wrench from him; he'd found his voice again. "Well...one thing's for sure; I ain't never gonna steal a car again..." He turned back to face Tracks, his cheeks still red, but a small smirk hanging beneath them. "...you're more trouble than you're worth!"

Ah, they were back to that again. Fair enough.

"What do you mean? I saved your life!"

"And I saved yours, _twice._ "

"Oh, pipe down and hand me that socket wrench..." Raoul's laughter had echoed against the garage walls, warming Tracks' spark more than even the (oddly charming) blush had, and even prompting a low laugh of his own. The first of many the two had over the next three months as they worked together and explored the city in their time off.

There were arguments over music, banter, complaining about how it was the wrong wax and to get the _right_ stuff next time, flying over the Hudson Bay, more banter, learning how to properly repair an Autobot, bitching about slave-driver bosses who didn't pay enough, joking about which of Megatron's commander's kissed his aft more, laughter, and lots of car washes (followed by yet more banter)...

And then there had been more of that wonderful blushing, hesitant kisses, careful touches to scarily soft bodies and precious lights, and quiet words spoken without pride. And more car washes; these ones just lasted a little longer than the ones before.

Yes, Tracks most definitely considered that night of his crash to be one of the worst his CPU could recall in recent memory.

It was worth every trauma-inducing, chassis-denting nano-click of it...  
  



End file.
